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i'm drowning, so come inside

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It’s early, the sun barely peeking over the mountains outside.

The bedroom is cast in a heavenly, pinkish blue glow. A sanctuary just for them.

It’s quiet, save for their shared breath.

Sweaty hands grip his hips, quiet pants paint the thin skin of his neck—the room is so warm he can barely breathe much less focus—

He moves against T’Challa out of pure, primal instinct. Nearly drooling at the drag of his sensitive cock against his lover’s—flushed and heated and so, so wet.

He grinds his body back and forth, almost sluggishly, along the smooth length of T’Challa— pulse aching deep in his cock as he leaks precome between them.

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa whispers against his cheek, soft and dreamy.

Erik slips a hand down over his panther’s lithe body, low, lower—

“Ah, I want—“

Erik licks gently at the sensitive tip of his ear, says into it, “What do you want?”

“Your fingers— please, inside—“

Erik grins, pressing gold canines down on his bottom lip as he smirks at his needy, flushed lover.

“Yeah? You gonna get ‘em baby.”

He trails one big, calloused hand over T’Challa’s damp, trembling belly and brings the other up to his slack mouth.

“Open wide, kitten,” he says, tapping his fingertips lightly against plush, chapped lips.

T’Challa opens, like the good boy he is, and Erik dips his index and middle fingers into the moist heat of his mouth.

His cock twitches weakly as his fingers push down on the pink pillow of T’Challa’s tongue.

“You gonna suck, baby? Take ‘em down that throat?”

T’Challa hums around his fingers, closes his eyes as the familiar feeling of being full starts to overwhelm him in the most pleasant way.

“I know,” Erik says, “I know.”

Erik pushes his fingers in, slow— pulls out, slower. A sensual glide forward and backward.

“This is what I’mma do to you—put my dick in you like this—“

T’Challa mumbles a moan like sound, canting his hips up against Erik searching for friction.

Erik moves his body away, teasing, “You want that, don’t you?”

T’Challa nods, sucking the tip of Erik’s middle finger eagerly, tongue curling around it as his long eyelashes flutter.

“This big dick got you wild, huh?”

T’Challa lets out a muffled, distressed groan.

Erik pulls his drenched digits out of T’Challa’s mouth, trailing them lightly down his warm cheek before moving so he’s directly atop his cousin.

He takes a moment to gaze down in awe upon T’Challa’s strong, fit physique.

“Damn,” he mutters.

T’Challa raises his eyebrows, a slight curve to his lips as he grips the sheets in his hands.

“What? You know you hot,” Erik grumbles.

“You are not so bad yourself,” T’Challa immediately responds, pleased.

Erik barely refrains from rolling his eyes even as his heart stutters. T’Challa always insists on complimenting him. Erik isn’t stupid— he knows how good he looks.

But it does something funny to him when T’Challa comments on it.

Usually he lies to himself, pretends the endearments don’t affect him.

“Open for me,” he tells T’Challa, softer then he intended.

T’Challa obeys and spreads his thick, muscular legs, purring in his throat as Erik moves down the bed to press a tender kiss against the raised, rigid scar lining the inside of his thigh.

A lump swells in his throat as he does so.

Horrified, he pulls back.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, suddenly embarrassed.

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa gasps, eyes wide and wet, “please, it’s okay—“

Erik kisses him fast, almost too rough—needing to silence the slew of guilt sure to fall from his lips.

“Shh,” Erik soothes, pulling T’Challa’s bottom lip between his own before letting go, “Imma take care of you.”

T’Challa brings a hand to Erik’s cheek, bright eyes full of quiet adoration.

“I know,” he whispers.

Erik brings his fingers down to T’Challa’s hole, carefully inserting one as he presses a kiss to the high jut of T’Challa’s cheekbone.

“Breathe,” Erik tells him.

T’Challa breathes. Says, “Look at me.”

Erik looks, pulse rabbiting in his throat.

The man, the panther, the true king of Wakanda— is so beautiful Erik can’t believe he’s allowed to do this, to have him this way.

“Stop thinking,” T’Challa mutters, playful.

Erik leans down, lets T’Challa kiss him, brief at first— shy. However, the deeper Erik goes within him, the more passionate T’Challa’s kisses become.

Erik fingers him slow but firm—always thorough. Though he isn’t sure how much patience he has left. It feels like he woke up hours ago, erect cock digging into the warm arch of T’Challa’s lower back.

“Please—another,” T’Challa begs, moments later, desperate for more friction against his puffy, swollen rim.

“You like that?” Erik chides, smile on his face as he pulls out carefully and drizzles more oil onto his fingers.

“You know I do, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa answers, quiet and honest, holding his gaze as Erik brings two fingers back down to his opening.

Erik looks away.

Sometimes T’Challa’s eye contact is so intense he nearly loses his breath.

“Don’t look away, watch what you do to me,” T’Challa says, tone confident and sure.

Erik looks at him, lowers himself on one elbow, a strong arm holding him up as he dives deeper into T’Challa’s heat with two fingers this time.

He leans down and closes his eyes as he breathes hotly against T’Challa’s temple.

“What do I do to you?” He questions, eager, vulnerable—not for the first time in this bed, with this man.

T’Challa turns his head until his mouth is aligned right with Erik’s and delicately confesses, “You take me apart.”

Erik falters at the raw honesty— hand stilling as he looks at his prince.


T’Challa kisses him, biting down on his bottom lip before soothing the sting with a kitten lick.

“You keep me together,” Erik admits, one hand curling inside T’Challa—seeking that spot— while the other roughly pulls the sheets near T’Challa’s head.

It may be cheesy as hell but Erik is nothing if not a fierce, passionate lover.

“Oh Bast,” T’Challa cries, shoving himself down as Erik nails that soft, sensitive bundle of nerves inside him.

“That’s it baby,” Erik encourages, “ fuck yourself on my fingers.”

He brings T’Challa close by the back of his skull and kisses him, puts everything he has into it— all the possessiveness, protectiveness, and uncertainty brought upon him since meeting this man, needing this man—

“I want you inside,” T’Challa mumbles as they break apart.

“You think you ready?”

“Yes, please, I am ready,” T’Challa assures him.

Heat flares in Erik's heart as he snarls,“Imma give it to you raw baby, you want that? Wana feel me?”

T’Challa moans as he throws his head back, exposing his neck to Erik. Erik takes advantage, moving to suck harshly on T’Challa’s pulse point as he withdraws his fingers.

“N’Jadaka, please, I want to feel you. You feel so good,” T’Challa breathes, thrashing around momentarily before calming himself.

Erik feels cocky as hell at the words, they make him bite down hard, strong enough to hurt.

T’Challa likes it though, likes the pain.

Erik knows.

“Ahh—“ T’Challa whimpers, cock dribbling out pre-come at the sensation.

“It hurts,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as his body shivers from the pain.

There’s something so hot in how his voice gets higher and almost anxious with the pain—it makes Erik even more aroused, cock harder as it twitches at the sound.

Erik smirks against his neck as he gives one final, brutal suck— sure to bruise. He knows how sensitive T’Challa’s neck is. Knows how much he loves to be marked even more.

As Erik pulls away T’Challa brings a hand up to his chest.

“N’Jadaka, no more teasing.”

Erik pulls back and takes in the purplish marks lining his lover’s neck, giving him a wolf-like smile as he does so.

“You are clearly enjoying the frazzled state I’m in,” T’Challa huffs, for once looking out of sorts.

“Okay, okay,” Erik relents, “come here.”

T’Challa moves up and tries to wrap his legs around Erik’s hips but Erik’s stops him.

He pushes the upper half of T’Challa back down on the bed as he grips the smooth meat of his thigh.

“Nah, you gettin’ a deep fucking today.”

“Oh, I—“

Erik puts a hand over T’Challa’s mouth, which he’ll never admit arouses him beyond belief, and silences him.

“Imma lead now,” Erik tells him, turning him slightly and lifting one of his thighs overtop his shoulder.

The first time they slept together, T’Challa rode Erik in the middle of the night for what felt like hours. Erik had no idea how he wasn’t exhausted.

“I’m fit, and very flexible,” T’Challa had boasted, smirk evident in his voice as he kissed and licked the sweaty skin of Erik’s neck.

“Keep up,” he’d whispered while he clenched down hard enough on Erik that his eyes rolled back.

Erik shudders at the memory.

“Imma fuck you so good,” Erik says, possessive streak shining through as he declares, “fuckin’ ruin you for anybody else—“

He grips his aching, purplish cock and lines up against T’Challa— leaking pre-come over the hidden flesh of his taint.

“Yes,” T’Challa gasps, prepared for the thick, wet head breaching his entrance.

“Oh shit,” Erik can’t help but moan, almost blacking out from the feeling of entering T’Challa’s tight, suctioned heat.

“Baby, fuck,” Erik says, sounding shaky as he eases in as slow as he can.

“How you still so tight?” Erik asks, looking down at T’Challa, rubbing a soothing hand over his trembling belly.

T’Challa shakes his head, just breathing.

Erik knows he’s big, been proud of it most of his life. However, he knows how his size can affect and even intimidate his lovers, which is why he always tries to prep them the best he can.

“Doing so good baby, taking me like this,” Erik praises, “I know it hurts— just tell me when—“

“Please move,” T’Challa says, quiet.

Erik moves his hips back slow, thrusts forward as T’Challa lets out a soft, barely there moan.

“It hurts,” T’Challa breathes, “but it hurts in a good way. You're so big...”

Erik grips T’Challa’s thigh tight, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he fucks into T’Challa as deep as he possibly can.

“Ain’t nobody ever fuck you like me,” Erik says, licking a wet, hot path along T’Challa’s leg, "gonna fuck you so deep you feel me in your throat."

“Yes, please, yes N'Jadaka,” T’Challa voices, curling his toes.

Erik brings his other hand down on T’Challa’s throat and squeezes around the bruises he left.

T’Challa cries out, voice sounding damaged as he arches his back.

“You like me hurting you,” Erik whispers, thrusts speeding up as he feels his cock get wetter inside T’Challa— a sure sign his orgasm is approaching

“Only you,” T’Challa tells him, tears in his eyes as he reaches his hands up and drags them down Erik’s chest— nails scraping over his nipples.

“Yeah baby, mark me up, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” T’Challa echoes, fire in his eyes as he tosses his arms above his head.

“Gonna come—“ Erik tells him as he speeds up, balls slapping against the plush, heated flesh of T’Challa’s ass.

“Come inside me,” T’Challa whispers, eyes closing as he arches as far as he can, hands reaching for his cock.

Erik slaps his hands away, “You gonna come? Come on my cock?”

T’Challa moans, pleads, “Yes. Make me come, N’Jadaka—-“

Erik gives a brutal thrust, scratching nails down T’Challa’s shin as he plays with the head of T’Challa’s cock— wet and engorged from their exhaustive foreplay.

“Gimme your come baby, cover us in it—“

T’Challa’s eye widen as he lets go, his cock desperately relieved as it releases and coats both his chest and Erik’s hand in come.

Erik throws down the thigh on his shoulder and roughly pushes it aside as he pulls out— placing both elbows up by T’Challa’s head before re-entering him smoothly and quickly.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” Erik breathes right in his mouth.

He brings the hand coated in T’Challa’s come up to his lips.

“Suck it,” he demands, “suck your come like you do my cock.”

T’Challa brings them back inside his mouth, wanting to please his partner.

Erik pulls his fingers out and brings both hands down below T'Challa to grip his ass. He fucks him like they won't live another day, like he'll die without T'Challa's heat-- fucks him so hard drool collects in the pit of his mouth. Every nerve is on fire, frayed from being on edge for so long.

T’Challa drags his hands down Erik’s back, digs his nails in hard and deep as the heels of his feet come to push against Erik’s delicious ass.

“I want to put my mouth on you next time,” T’Challa tells him, both of their eyes closed.

“I want to put my tongue inside you, lick you out for hours—“

Erik ducks his head in the protective alcove of T’Challa’s neck, breathes in his scent as he nears his orgasm—

“You deserve to be worshipped like the king I know you are, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa pants, voice full of pride and emotion.

“Next time,” T’Challa continues, “you’ll use my cock as your throne, and I’ll use you, come inside you—“

“Ahhhhh fuuuuck—“ Erik comes at the thought of riding T'Challa, of giving up dominance to him. His soaked cock spurts warm and sloppy seed inside the greatest lover he’s ever known.

“Keep coming, N'Jadaka, fill me up—“ Erik cries out, broken and weak as his cock spurts pulse after pulse of his pleasure.

Erik bites on T’Challa’s neck gently, affectionately. He feels so loose, like he’s floating on a cloud.

He waits a few moments, keeping his cock warm, before he pulls out gingerly, barely registering falling down into the damp, silk sheets alongside T’Challa.

His eyes feel heavy but his heart is light. The last thing he remembers before closing his eyes is T’Challa wiping him down, muttering in that soft, calm voice, “Sweet dreams, my King.”